


Deliverance

by Maiisbuns



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiisbuns/pseuds/Maiisbuns
Summary: After the Ishvalan War Riza searches for meaning.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter |1

The first thing Riza sees are the drapes billowing in the window, they sway and fall back onto the window sill, causing the lights in the room to flicker. Slowly but surely any chatter out in the hall is becoming more clear.

“She’s in here.” Riza hears the nurse say, “She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness but it’s growing less frequent.”

The door creaks open, but the frame never hits the jamb.

“Riza? Riza, it’s Colonel Hughes.” 

Riza takes a deep breath, “Hello, Colonel.”

“Good, you’re awake.” 

She can hear him shuffling, pulling over a chair. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, that’s okay.” 

It’s hard to turn over, when she tries to roll pain shoots down her neck and back. 

“Take it easy,” Hughes says, “It’ll definitely require some adjusting to.”

When Riza turns her head the room has come more into focus. The bed is in the center of the room, the drapes conceal them like a tent with the sunlight coming from the partition in the middle. Her shoulders are layered in bandages, and when she breathes she can feel them on her chest too.

“My arms?” She asks, turning to look back up at the ceiling.

“Gone.” 

“I see.” Riza sighs. She can remember losing the first, but not the second. “—And Captain Mustang?”

“We’re looking.”

Her ears start to ring and the room feels hazy. She can recall the same sound from when the building had fell, the same atmosphere from the dust and crumbling foundation. She remembers losing sight of him. He had murmured something just before pushing her away. 

“I have some news, good and bad. Let’s start with the good.” Hughes says. “The good news is, we managed to get a mechanic to fit you for automail. So this situation will only be temporary. The bad news is, we had to sell your father’s house to the state to fund for the job. Specifically they were interested in the library for whatever alchemy research they might find.”

She is under strict orders not to tell anyone where to find it. Even higher ups. At least she can rest knowing the library will be what’s combed over in their attempts. Not that Riza could stop them. State Alchemists weren’t allowed medical benefits, or property —not that she’d want the house anyway. 

Hughes leaves her with no other instructions. Doctor Knox arrives with a mechanic in a week. 

Even after three months her shoulders are still sore from connecting the nerves. The nurse had said things will be inconvenient, but the pain will go away with time. 

“I would like to know my orders, Sir.” Riza drops a pen for the third time that morning, “My recovery is going well. Motor functions are more than seventy-percent within normal range. I’d like to return to my post, Colonel. Please.”

Colonel Hughes visits like clockwork, bringing flowers or quiche. Today, he leaves her banana pudding.

“How are you? Not your injuries.”

“Fine.” She says, “It’s just—“

She wants to say that she’s tired of the quiche, tired of pudding, and that the flowers keep dying because no one cares to water them. 

“There are no orders, Riza. We’ve gone over this.”

Colonel Hughes is tired. Not only evident through his growing frustration every time he visits, but it carries through his eyes and hands, even his military jacket. He doesn’t bother to button his coat anymore, in just a few weeks the flap over his chest loses its fold, weighed down by the snaps. 

“It’s been three months, the war is over.” 

“Can I speak to Captain Mustang yet?”

“We’ve made arrangements.” He hands her an envelope, “You’ll be staying with Chris Mustang, the closest relative to the Captain. It was decided that she’d be the one to take you in after the war.”

She couldn’t remember the Captain ever saying he had family. He mentioned growing up in the city, his parents were from the mining town in the west, and they died. He hardly remembered them. But, she remembers the conversations after, where he’d ask questions about her home, or what her childhood was like. She recalls none. 

Major Havoc knocks twice, announcing himself as he steps in. Every step he takes leaves a trail of ashes.

“You really couldn’t put that out could you?” Hughes sighs.

“Stress reliever.” Havoc shrugs, “Only a pack a day anyhow.”

“Major Havoc.” Riza smiles, “It’s nice to see you.” 

If Hughes makes his rounds at the infirmary every week, then Havoc can be expected every other. At least when he visits there’s no quiche. 

Both of the men exit the room. It’s not unlike them or anyone else to leave her out of it. Decisions are made and she’s to go along with them. That’s how it was, and how it’s been. 

When they come back it’s to relay the results of their deliberation. 

“There’s a set of clothes in that suitcase. Three sets. It’s all I could manage to gather for you. Get changed, your discharge is at three o’clock.” 

She stays with Hughes for the night. Apparently after the war he was able to afford a nice house in East City. It’s not too far from headquarters and he says he’s happy to make it home every night for dinner.

His wife Gracia very kind, bustling about the house despite the obvious exhaustion from her pregnancy. She rarely asks questions about the war, rarely says much, in fact. She is nothing like the girl the colonel had described during the war. She wasn’t bubbly, or full of life, she didn’t even look the same as in the pictures.

“Dinner should be ready in an hour.” 

That’s all she says all evening. They spend dinner in silence, with their silverware clanking on the dishes, the occasional swig of water and the sound of chewing. 

When they’re finished, Hughes scrapes away leftovers into a tin. Riza is to help with washing the plates. 

Riza washes while Gracia dries, eventually they form a rhythm. 

“Isn’t that hard on your hands? Won’t they rust?”

“No, ma’am.” Riza says, “The metal they used won’t rust. But I do dry the components well to be sure.”

“May I ask what happened?”

It was the final battle in Ishval. The one that would complete the—the war.”

Extermination. She thinks, and hears when Kimblee had referred to the Ishvalans as vermin. A people needing to be cleansed so that Amestris could prosper.

“Are we vermin then?” Riza had asked, “If we’re to be disposed of after all this?”

Kimblee smirked, “Do you really think they can do that? Destroy all of the alchemists? All of their weaponry? Think about this, Hawkeye. Who’s really in control here? If we decided we wanted to take all of this shit hole for ourselves. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers, “In the blink of an eye.”

Gracia doesn’t pry any further. They gather linens and layer them on top of an old cot. Riza helps make tea and they all gather around the radio to listen to the night’s selection of piano. Gracia falls asleep, slumped over on Hughes’ shoulder. 

“Colonel?” Riza says quietly, “May I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“If the war is over. I am to be discarded, correct?” 

Hughes adjusts Gracia, gently laying her down on a few cushions, “No, I told you we’ve made arrangements.” 

“If the war is over, and I am no longer useful then I am to be discarded. That is what the Fuhrer himself said. I fail to see how I am useful here, sir.” She takes a breath, “Without my arms I am unable to perform flame alchemy, therefore I am no longer of use.”

“That’s not true.”

“The Captain still hasn’t spoken to me.” She says, “When will I be able to see him?”

“Riza—”

“Please, if I am no longer useful to him….Please.” 

“Listen to me, you are useful. To myself, as well as Roy. I don’t want to hear another word about this.” 

She is to use the nursery tonight. Gracia had a cot set up in the middle of the room. An unfinished bassinet is in the corner, an empty toy box is against the wall. Riza’s place here is makeshift, just like everywhere else. Just like her father’s home when she was young, just like the “armory” in ishval.

She pulls the suitcase over to the cot and picks out a silver pocket watch. The Amestrian dragon on the front is covered in small dents and scuffs, on the back she can still read the faint “R.M.” among the erosion.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter | **2**

 

In the morning, Havoc escorts her to the station. He helps Riza carry her bag and trunk to the front door. They bid Hughes and Gracia farewell, which his wife returns in the form of an apple pie, the tin wrapped in napkins.

The ride to the station is silent, save for some chatter between Havoc and the driver. It doesn’t take long for her to drown out their sounds. She seems to float like this from one place to another, from the house to the front, to the infirmary, and to this car. Home is like a distant memory, what she remembers of it only seems to be rainy days—the house in floods.

She remembers lining up buckets throughout the house to catch the drips. Her father would cover the books with a tarp. Some nights he’d build a tent full of them, casting her away as he spent the night in the library. Riza had always seen him as a traveler of sorts, wherever those books took him always seemed closer than where she was.

This road is like that, everytime she looks through the car window Hughes’ house recedes, until it disappears like a wisp of smoke.

They arrive at the station in an hour, where Havoc recites the directions and what she is to do once she arrives at Central.

“You’ve got your directions here. The address for Madame Christmas is on the backside of the instructions.”

“Madame—?”

“Don’t let her fool you. She’s a real nice woman. At least the last time I met her. Nice girls at her bar too.” Havoc’s cheeks flush red, “But uh...that’s not the point. She’ll take good care of you.”

And she’s met with farewells again. Passed like a baton at the tail end of a relay. She hands over her ticket, finding a seat across from a father and son.

The father begins showing the boy a map of Amestris. His hands follow the paths of roads, running along rivers and valleys, he explains the routes of trains and how they deliver people, cargo, or anything the boy can imagine.

Riza remembers her own hands at night, tracing transmutation circles, reading and rereading formulas by candlelight. The dark and cold would leave her hands to cramp around the book covers, incapable of doing much more than building a fire.

When her father found her he did not go over the river valleys, and didn’t explain the circles. Instead, he stacked the books on higher shelves, tucking the note sheets back into their journals and tying them with twine. He arranged everything so he could see if they’d been tampered with, as though any wandering eyes would have made the knowledge written on them void.

“Are you from East City?”

Riza jumps, pulled back in as she realizes the man is speaking to her. “No, South, in the country.”

He nods, “I have a friend from the south, he hated it.”

Riza smiles, “I can imagine.”

They ride together through the night, the little boy shows Riza varying shadow puppets, both of them making shapes with their hands as they flicker in the train moonlight. Gracia’s pie doesn’t go to waste, and Riza has them keep the last few slices, a small gratuity for being pleasant.

She’s relieved to arrive that same evening. Even at night Central station is the complete opposite of the East. The train exchanges passengers like a circuit, sending people out and in. A woman waves to her from across the platform.

“Miss Hawkeye!” She says, “Over here!”

As soon as Riza closes the distance the other girl’s arm is immediately looped with hers.

“It’s just this way. A lot easier to find you than I thought it’d be.”

It isn’t hard to tell which car belongs to Chris Mustang. They seem to follow the scent of cigarettes wafting from the car window, a black B-Type, the madame’s voice rasps with each word, exhaling smoke.

“Good work, Rebecca. Get in.”

Chris Mustang looks nothing like the captain. She is a large woman, gruff and commanding despite hardly taking a glance at either of them. Riza turns to Rebecca who offers a reassuring smile.

“You’re awful young to be military, and a young woman no less.” Christmas says, “I’ve had a few of the girls consider enlisting. But there’s a lot more you can do from in here than they think. Leave the fighting to the men, they’re good at nonsense.”

“I was—talented, is all.” Riza mutters, “You’re Captain Mustang’s…?”

“Aunt.” Christmas rests her arm in the car window, “I may as well be his mother, raised him just as long.”

The driver puts the radio on, adjusting the tuner until the static stops. Ballroom comes through for a few seconds before he switches to jazz, cutting out anytime they run over a divot in the road. Riza hums along quietly. She can’t help but think about how her father used to treat anything that came out of the wireless.

“All they ever play is racket.” Riza’s father used to say, “Anything not for dancing might as well go with the waste.”

Her mother liked music, she remembers. When Riza was still small enough she used to stand on top of her mother’s toes, following the steps as she hums. They’d sway and dance circles around the kitchen, on some occasions even her father would join in.

“One day, when you find a man who loves you as much as you love him, you’ll dance just like this.” Her mother said, “And everyone in town will see, and you’ll be beautiful.”

The car lurches again, the jolt is enough to cut the radio out completely.

Eventually, they come to a halt in a side street. Madame gets out of the car, expecting Riza to follow. Rebecca hurries behind, coaxing Riza to follow suit.

The door to the bar is inset, a short hallway leads to two large wooden doors. Madame knocks and another girl opens the door, letting them through.

“Rebecca, you’ll show Riza to her room. Please get her anything she needs for the night; a gown, water, linen. You can show her around the bar in the morning.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“It’s late. Get some rest, we have work to do.”

“Oil, please.” Riza interrupts, “my hands are a bit stiff, I’d like to oil them before bed, that way I’m ready to be of use by morning.”

Madame nods, “You heard the girl.”

The room they’ve given her is small but oblong, enough to fit the bed, side tables, and a small vanity in the corner. Rebecca bustles in and out of the room leaving several gowns, hand-me-down dresses, and clean sheets. When she’s finished she disappears, coming back after a few moments with water and a small tin of oil.

 

Riza allows her to help with tightening the gears and any loose screws. They do it in silence for a while, the only sound being a squeak every now and again.

“It’s always exciting when someone new comes along.” Rebecca finally says.

Riza nods, “I feel very welcome. Thank you.”

“I can call you Riza?”

Riza nods, “That’s fine. Captain Mustang called me Hawkeye.”

“Formalities, I guess.”

“Yes.”

The air seems stiff as Rebecca fidgets. She seems to be tossing around questions, none of which Riza can say anyone else hasn’t thought to ask.

“Questions are okay.” She says, “I won’t get mad.”

Rebecca doesn’t hesitate once given permission. “Where’s your family? I mean, aside from the war, there has to be a reason why you didn’t go home.”

 

“They’re dead.” Riza says plainly.

She can’t help but think about the small graves they’d been given—nothing but a stake and their initials carved in as a marker. Together they’d put up her mothers, and years later her father would follow.

“You listen to me, you show them nothing.”

He was shoving matches in her hands, bustling about the house in a frenzy. Her father had always been paranoid—everything from far off neighbors and simple passerby, believing they were spies come to take him.

“They’re coming. When they come, you burn it down. You have what’s important. Let the rest go to hell.” He was packing journals, kicking them into a wooden crate, sifting through drawers and shelves, puling them down to let the loose papers fall into a pile.

He knelt down, bringing Riza in close, “I wish you’d had an affinity for it…”

She can’t recall anytime before then that he’d hugged her, but from then on she’ll think of him when she smells dust and gun powder. When he lets go he walks her out of the library just far enough until he can shut the door behind her.

A gunshot shook the house’s foundation. When the military had found her she was in the library, scrubbing blood from the floorboards.

There’s a throbbing pain in her arm that brings her back in.

“I can’t tighten this if you’re tensing.”

Rebecca is still working at the bolts in her elbow. They finish up with her right arm and save the left for tomorrow. Once the tin and wrench are put away Riza says her goodnights quickly, listening for the retreat of Rebecca’s footsteps down the hall.

When she hears nothing she stares up at the ceiling trying to make out the shapes of transmutation circles.


End file.
